


for it to break

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Brecilian Forest, F/F, Falling In Love, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So here she is, just a little light-headed from her second cup of wine and maybe also from the blow to the head she received by a particularly ugly genlock. That has to be it. She probably has a concussion. What other possible reason could there be for the fact that she cannot keep her eyes off her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	for it to break

Tabris is beautiful, Morrigan thinks and immediately scoffs at her own thought. It’s a silly idea, a fancy put into her head by exhaustion and perhaps just a little bit too much wine. There has been walking, lots of it. And fighting, also lots of it. And then something that Zevran called a celebratory drink. It’s not like that elf ever needs a reason to break out the Antivan Red but when the occasion arises, he knows how to take it.

So here she is, just a little light-headed from her second cup of wine and maybe also from the blow to the head she received by a particularly ugly genlock. That has to be it. She probably has a concussion. What other possible reason could there be for the fact that she cannot keep her eyes off her?

It’s that hair, she thinks. All silvery and shiny. Even in the dark of night and with the coppery tinge the campfire gives it, it’s brighter than everything else in sight. It's difficult to look away when she tosses it back. Or when she lifts her slender hand to brush it out of her face as she leans forward, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as she listens to one of Leliana’s stories.

Morrigan is staring now and she can taste her own annoyance like hot bile on her tongue. She scoffs once more and opts to stare into the cup in her hands instead. Nothing infuriatingly confusing about the smooth dark surface of her wine.

“Is everything alright?” Wynne asks from her spot in front of her tent. Of course the old hag would be the one to spot Morrigan’s discomfort. It is a Circle thing, perhaps. Spying on others, intruding into their personal business. It must be second nature to those mages.

“Yes,” she snaps. It is not the clever retort or diversion she has hoped for but her tongue feels heavy somehow.

“You look distressed,” Wynne says and there is an edge to her voice that Morrigan cannot quite place. Perhaps it curiosity. Or mockery. In any case, she is not in the mood.

“It’s just my head, old woman,” Morrigan says through gritted teeth. “It seems you’re not as proficient at healing as you thought. I still feel dizzy.”

“Is that so?” Wynne makes a contemplative noise and when Morrigan looks up she can see the old woman’s eyes glistening in the light of the fire. Definitely mocking, she decides.

“Mind your own business.” She gets up and is glad that she manages without any wobbling knees or further dizzy spells.

At her movement, Tabris looks up. A flash of silver from the corner of her eye. She tries not to look, she really does. It’s the wine’s fault, surely.

Tabris’ smile hits her with more force than that genlock’s club has. She stumbles back to her tent, barely resisting the urge to sprint.

She dreams of moonlight filtering through the leaves above as her paws thrum a rhythm on the soft forest ground. She does not know what she is running from. There is a tightness in her chest and the world around her is silver.

 

* * *

 

Tabris and Alistair had a falling out and the mood in the camp is worse than it has ever been.

Morrigan does not know what they are fighting about and she does not know who to ask. The silence in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife and even Leliana refrains from strumming her lute in the evenings. Normally, Morrigan would regard that as a blessing but even she cannot make light of this.

She couldn't care less about Alistair’s feelings as he sulks around camp like an oversized toddler. It’s his usual childish tantrum but for the first time, he doesn't have Tabris to back him up. Until now, they have been thick as thieves. An easy friendship, only aided by Tabris’ seemingly endless patience. And albeit grudgingly, Morrigan has to admit that only Alistair can make Tabris laugh until tears run down her cheeks. It is strange to see them like this, avoiding each other with every step.

She considers asking Leliana but discards that idea as soon as it comes to her. For someone who can be such an insufferable gossip, Leliana is strangely tight-lipped about her friends’ secrets. Also, just maybe, the thought of looking foolish in front of the bard is already giving her a headache. So she keeps watching the others from her spot at the edge of the camp, trying to figure out what could possibly have happened.

In the end, it is Sten, of all people, who enlightens her. She is lacing up her bedroll when she notices him from the corner of her eye, standing curiously close to her. It is odd. She cannot remember ever exchanging more than a few words with him.

“Yes?” She straightens up and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

She didn’t think it was possible but the expression on Sten’s face is even more stern than usual. “He called you a name.”

“What?”

“The male Warden. He called you a name and the elf did not like it.” He squints. “Tabris.”

Something small and wild is fluttering in her chest and she suppresses it with an annoyed grunt. “And you are telling me this why exactly?”

“I thought they were warriors but they are behaving like children. It is a liability on the battlefield. I do not know what your intentions are, woman. But if you intend to do something, do it now.”

He turns around and stalks stiffly back to camp. She watches him leave, still trying to ignore the feeling in her chest. Surely he must be mistaken. Something as silly as that cannot possibly be the reason for their fight. And it's not as if Alistair hasn't called her all kinds of unflattering names before.

But the thought haunts her and will not let her go throughout the day. They are on the road again, trekking through the Hinterlands on overgrown footpaths, well away from the main roads. It is not quite like the Wilds but Morrigan feels more at home here, moving through the high grass and over the roots with ease. In front of her, Tabris is struggling. Even after months, she is still not used to wandering through uneven terrain.

Morrigan can hear her curse underneath her breath. It’s a familiar sound by now but this time there is an edge to it, accompanied by several angry glances at Alistair’s broad back in front of them. Morrigan falls into step with her just as Tabris stumbles over another uneven patch of grass.

“You know, I would offer you my arm but I know you’re more likely to cut it off than accept it,” she says.

Tabris huffs and catches herself. “Normally that would a very accurate perception of my pride,” she says and grants Morrigan a tiny smile - the first in days. “But if I stumble one more time I might just take you up on that offer.”

Morrigan forces her eyes away from her and keeps them up front. They walk in silence for a while, more slowly than the others because of Tabris’ careful steps. When Morrigan is sure that Alistair is out of earshot, she turns to Tabris once more.

“You are fighting with him”, she says and nods towards Alistair’s back. It’s not a question but Tabris contemplates it for a moment anyway.

“I guess I am,” she admits. “Although I like to think of it more as him being a stubborn mule and me waiting for him to apologize. A disagreement of sorts.”

It is just like her to make light of the situation but Morrigan can hear the strain in her voice. Whatever this fight really is, it is gnawing at her. And if Sten is right…

“It has come to my attention…” She stops herself, not sure how to word it without being too obvious. She can feel Tabris’ curious eyes on her now and clears her throat. “I have heard some rumors.”

Tabris breaks into a smile far more amused than should be becoming. “Have you now?”

Morrigan can feel the irritation flaring up in her chest again. If there is one thing she has never been it is being at loss for a witty remark. Being around Tabris and her smiles and her hair and her intense gaze makes her tongue-tied and she hates every part of it. She keeps her eyes trained on the ground.

“I do not wish to be the reason for your… disagreement.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh.” It feels a bit like disappointment, which only makes it worse.

“Alistair is the reason for our disagreement,” Tabris adds quickly and Morrigan finally looks at her. “You know how he gets.”

Morrigan knows and there are a million ways to express it just on the tip of her tongue. Instead she shakes her head. “The gesture is appreciated. But I can defend myself.”

Tabris laughs quietly next to her, a sound that shoots straight to the very core of her. “I know you can. But that does not mean you should have to.”

Morrigan has no answer to that as a strange warm feeling rises in her chest.

It is two more days before Alistair caves. He does not apologize with words. Instead he brings her a bowl of stew to her tent. He cooked it himself and the stench of it makes her stomach churn before she has even taken a bite. It comes with a half-hearted shrug and a grumbled comment that could almost be interpreted as civil. Morrigan couldn't care less about his apology but when she looks over to the others, she sees Tabris’ encouraging smile and takes the bowl wordlessly. The happy look on Tabris’ face is almost worth the abominable taste.

 

* * *

 

The mirror looks just like the one lost to her and Morrigan finds her fingers shaking as she runs them over the glittering gemstones on the frame. From the shining surface her own face looks back at her, wide-eyed and confused.

“I am uncertain what to say.” She looks up. Tabris is bouncing on the balls of her feet, more nervous than she has ever seen her. “You must wish something in return, certainly.”

It is the wrong thing to say and she realizes it immediately. Tabris’ pointed ears droop as an expression of hurt flashes across her face. “It is just a gift, Morrigan,” she says and her voice is suddenly small and quiet. “I saw it and it made me think of you.”

“I have never received a gift. Not one that didn’t also come with a price attached.”

The hurt on Tabris’ face is not for herself, Morrigan realizes with horror. It’s for Morrigan. Not pity but genuine distress. “I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It was only meant to be a gift.”

“You haven’t,” Morrigan says quickly, her hand darting out to touch Tabris’ sleeve before she can think. “I am not uncomfortable. Just… suprised. I suppose I should thank you. ‘Tis… most thoughtful of you.”

There is still some uncertainty in Tabris’ expression but when she smiles, it’s almost too bright. Morrigan watches her leave and clutches the mirror to her chest, tightly as if she’s afraid it might vanish at any moment. That night she wraps it in a thick woolen scarf and hides it in a side pocket of her pack where she know it will not damage or break.

This one she will keep safe.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it’s a tree that takes Tabris down. A tree, of all things. Granted, it’s of the walking slashing kind but still, a tree. Morrigan sees one of its branches, thick as a man’s thigh, hit Tabris in the chest and send her flying.

Morrigan thinks she screams her name but she cannot be sure - not with the sounds of battle and her own blood rushing in her ears. The tree moves again, its long legs hitting the ground hard enough to make it shake with every step. Tabris is just a heap of blue and silver on the ground, too far away to reach.

She thinks fire and slams her staff into the ground, tugging at the veil with more force than is wise. She can feel the magic hit her like a wave, run through her and through her staff and then… The tree burns. Flames lick their way up its legs and arms until they finally reach its crown. A horrible screeching sound not unlike a hurt cat’s wail echoes through the forest and with a last shudder, the tree falls to its knees, topples over and lays still.

Alistair is the first by Tabris’ side, carefully turning her on her back. “She’s alive,” he calls out before Morrigan can even take the first step. Her feet are heavy, anchored to the forest ground.

She doesn’t look alive, lifeless and limp in Alistair’s arms.

“She is hurt, Morrigan,” he says and looks to her as if she could do anything about it. “Badly.”

She stumbles forward then, wills her feet to move. There is a dent in Tabris breastplate and blood in the corner of her mouth.

There shouldn’t be blood. There shouldn’t be…

“You need to heal her.” The pure desperation in Alistair’s voice is too much.

“I cannot…” All the times her mother scolded her for messing up even the simplest healing spell. All the times Wynne offered to teach her. All the times she laughed in their faces.

“You have to! She is dying!”

“I don’t know how!”

Deadly determination sets his face in stone as he scoops Tabris up, almost like she weighs nothing. She folds into herself like a broken butterfly.

It shouldn’t be like this. Tabris doesn’t falter. Tabris doesn’t yield.

Until she does.

Morrigan keeps two steps behind Alistair as they hurry back to camp. She can hardly see Tabris like this, only her feet and a few strands of her hair. The rest is hidden behind Alistair’s broad back. She wants to come closer, wants to see her breathe. But she doesn’t dare.

Her hands can’t heal. All they do is break.

Wynne is on her feet as soon as she sees them approach. She is fast for an old woman - faster still when she drops all pretense.

She doesn’t ask what happened. “Lay her down here, by the fire.” With skilled fingers she unclasps Tabris’ armor and strips her down to her breastband. “Her ribs are broken. I fear they may have punctured her lung.”

There is a pained strangled noise and it takes Morrigan a moment to realize it’s coming from her. Wynne looks up but her face is completely unreadable. Then she starts working.

By the time Wynne leans back on the balls of her feet and presses her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking, darkness has fallen and Tabris is breathing more evenly. Her face is ashen but Wynne looks satisfied when she brushes a strand of hair from her face.

“This is all I can do.” She looks at Alistair and then slowly up to meet Morrigan’s eyes. “She will live.”

There are words but they are all stuck in Morrigan’s throat until she cannot breathe. Sharp enough to cut her tongue if she even attempted to utter them out loud. She steps back before she knows what she’s doing.

“Morrigan,” Wynne says and her voice is everything Flemeth ever was and everything she wasn’t.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s Tabris, flashing her a smile from across camp. It’s Tabris, bouncing on the balls of her feet and her face flushed with excitement. It’s Tabris, lying in a heap on the ground. It’s Tabris.

Morrigan turns around and runs.

 

* * *

 

The Brecilian Forest is nothing like the Wilds, with its lush green trees and every leaf and every stone humming with magic. Some of it is Dalish, just like they leave their traces throughout the woods. But underneath, seeped into the very earth, it’s something different. Something old and powerful. She can taste it in the air and in the water. Feel it breathing deep underneath the ground on which she sleeps at night. It’s elven, she thinks. Or something like it. Ancient and dormant but always present.

It doesn’t take much to change her form here. From human to wolf to bird and back again, only to start from the beginning. She moves through the forest, shedding skin after skin until she cannot run anymore. She leaps off the ground as a fox and lands on the branches of a tall birch tree as a raven.

Time is different when she moves like this - not quite herself, not quite what she pretends to be. She estimates it’s been at least two days since she started running.

_Since you left them behind_ , an ugly voice in some corner of her mind whispers. If she were to listen closely it would sound a lot like her mother.

The others are used to her slipping away from camp from time to time. But she is always back before sunrise, the itching need to run and run and never stop reduced to a low murmur in the back of her head. But not like this. This is different. Even with Tabris’ injuries, they surely must have moved on by now.

Good. There is no point in keeping up this charade any longer. Running after a group of people who she hardly tolerated and who hardly tolerated her just because her mother told her to? She should have run on the very first day. She was never meant to stay, after all.

She leaps off the branch and circles high up into the sky, above the treetops. The forest reaches for miles and miles into every direction, a sea of green stretching to the horizon. But Morrigan knows from where she came. There is no point in going back other than to gather her few belongings. Surely they would have left those behind.

_The mirror._ But the memory carries others in its wake - ones she will not think about.

Night falls and she finds a spot high up in a fir tree. She must be close to the Dalish camp because she spots a few of their lantern hanging on some of the lower branches, their light illuminating the clearing below.

She nestles against the trunk to keep out of the wind and fluffs up her feathers against the cold. There is a noise, somewhere in the undergrowth. An animal perhaps. But up here she is safe enough from predators. Silence falls and she almost falls asleep until… There, once more. A loud cracking sound, followed by a hushed curse. She peeks down into the clearing and waits.

The gleam of silver is the first thing she spots, so familiar even from a distance. Tabris stumbles out of the bushes and into the clearing, picking off burs from her clothes. She looks around before her shoulders slump slightly.

Morrigan can hear her own heartbeat, the frantic one of the raven. She doesn’t understand. What is Tabris doing here? Alone? Where are the others?

She could stay hidden. Wait for Tabris to move on and disappear into the night. Her mind is half made up when she hears Tabris speak her name.

“Morrigan.”

She doesn’t call out to her or anyone else. She only says her name, softly and defeated.

Morrigan spreads her wings and glides down to the ground. By the time she reaches it, she is human again, her arms and legs feeling strange and unfamiliar.

Tabris doesn’t move, just stares at her. “You came back,” she says.

“Why are you still here?” It sounds harsher than Morrigan intended. Or perhaps not harsh enough because Tabris takes a step towards her.

“Because I hoped you’d come back. The others said you wouldn’t but… I had hope.”

Morrigan swallows, her throat tight and dry all of a sudden. “I only came back because I thought you’d moved on.”

It’s truth, it has to be. But the look of disappointment on Tabris’ face still cuts like a knife.

“Why did you leave?” Tabris’ voice shouldn’t sound this small and weak. “I thought…”

“I don’t know.” Morrigan folds her arms and forces herself to look at Tabris. Tabris who wears her hurt so plain on her face, every emotion on her face as easy to read as a book. “Are you… well again?”

Tabris presses one hand against her side and nods. “I am. Wynne healed me. It hardly hurts anymore.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Because this, after everything, is also the truth.

Tabris takes another step, more tentatively this time. “I don’t understand. Why leave now?”

Morrigan can taste the answer on her tongue, not unlike blood. Surprising but unmistakable once she tastes it. The words come more slowly in the end. “You almost died. I saw you there and… you almost died.”

“Oh.” Tabris’ face closes off, for the first time Morrigan can remember. “I… I understand.” She takes a step back. “I cannot force you to follow me to the end. I would not ask that of you. I am going to…” There is a smile but it is small and weak and all wrong. “Well, the odds of me surviving this are not so good.”

“Don’t say that!” Her voice rings through the quiet night and she presses her hand against her lips before more words can come tumbling out.

Tabris shakes her head. “It’s fine. I have made my peace with it. But you… I cannot ask you to go down that path with me.”

Morrigan balls her hands into fists until her nails dig into the flesh of her palm. She is right. She doesn’t even know how right she is and all Morrigan can do is bite her tongue as not to scream until her throat is ripped to shreds.

Tabris takes a deep breath and her smile is sad but real this time. “I just want you to know that… Ah, it seems unfair to say it now.” She laughs. “But I won’t get another chance, will I? These last few months have been good. Travelling with you has been good. And if I had the choice, I would have had you with me. Even until the bitter end.”

It’s difficult to breathe. “You cannot say these things,” Morrigan says but her voice is all wrong, with no air to support it. “You cannot.”

“Why not?” Something like anger flashes across Tabris’ face.

“You… you give too freely. Your words and your… affections. And I don’t deserve either.”

Anger now, no doubt about it. “Don’t I get to decide who deserves them? Don’t I get to decide what to do with my life, however short it may be? How to live? Who to love?”

The words hang between them like pearls from a string and Morrigan fears if she moves they will fall and shatter on the ground. The voice in the back of her head whispers the familiar chant. _Run, run, run and don’t look back._

“You love me,” she says, loud enough to tune out the whispers.

There is no embarrassment, only defiance in Tabris’ eyes. “I do.”

“It makes no sense.”

“Says who?”

Morrigan laughs, despite herself. “The world? History? Common sense?”

“I don’t care about any of it.” And she truly doesn’t. Tabris never has. From the very first moment, she has only ever seen Morrigan. Not the Witch of the Wilds. Not Flemeth’s daughter. Not the miles and miles between them. The impossibility of it all. “I only care about you.”

Morrigan moves and nothing breaks. There is Tabris rising up to meet her and there are her arms around her waist and her lips on Morrigan’s lips and her hand in her hair. Morrigan moves and the world doesn’t end.

 

* * *

 

Tabris lies next to her, only moonlight illuminating her features and the slow steady rise of her chest. Her dark skin littered with white scars, both old and new. Morrigan props herself up on one elbow and watches her, almost afraid to blink. She presses her fingers against her collarbone, where Tabris' teeth left a small mark. It’s not pain, just a dull ache, not unlike the one between her legs, but it reminds her that it’s real. Without the light of day and without Tabris’ eyes on her, without Tabris’ fingers brushing against her skin, it’s easy for doubt to come back creeping in.

There were no remarks, no reprimands when they returned to camp. No comments on her disappearance and no comments on Tabris’ hand in hers. There will be later, she has no illusions about that. But then, there was nothing but relief. Nothing but Tabris.

(And later, her lips once more. Her hands and her mouth and all the ways she could take Morrigan apart.

“I wasn’t made for this,” she told her when Tabris pressed her lips against the skin of her inner thigh.

“For what? For this?” Tabris is never wicked but when she flattened her tongue and traced every fold with meticulous care until Morrigan's back arched off the bedroll and she muffled her sobs with the back of her hand, she looked positively devious.

“No”, she gasped. “For love. For any of it.”

And Tabris hesitated, only for a moment, before shaking her head. “Yes, you were,” she said. And then once more, her lips brushing against Morrigan’s skin. “You were.” And again, with her fingers crooked inside her and her mouth on her clit and her eyes never leaving hers until Morrigan came with a sharp gasp and a softer sigh. Until it was scorched into her skin and etched into her bones. Until Morrigan almost believed it.)

Morrigan presses against the mark and it’s real enough for now. She tugs at the blanket until it covers Tabris’ naked body and Tabris stirs a little in her sleep. She doesn’t wake but her fingers find Morrigan, lightly curling around her wrist. A reassurance. 

This one she will keep safe.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
